The hallway was quiet when Mark returned from practice. His duffel bag slung over one shoulder, sweat drying on his skin, legs aching from drills. He didn't notice anything was wrong until he turned the corner.
Then he froze.
His dorm door—once plain white—was now a disgusting mess of graffiti.
FAG.
DON'T DROP THE SOAP.
STAY AWAY FROM US.
Black and red spray paint screamed across the surface, some of it dripping as if the words themselves were bleeding.
Mark's heart dropped.
His breath hitched, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag.
"Jesus," someone muttered down the hall. A freshman, staring with wide eyes before quickly ducking back into his room.
Mark walked forward slowly, hand trembling as he reached for the doorknob. It was crusted with dried paint.
"Mark!" Travis's voice rang out behind him. He jogged up, eyes going wide as he took in the scene. "Holy crap. Who did this?"
Mark didn't say anything. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Just a small breath. A broken sound.
Travis gently pulled him back. "Don't go in yet. Let me call RA Morgan. This has to get reported. Hell, we should call campus security—"
"It's just paint," Mark said hollowly.
"No, man, it's a hate crime."
Mark stood there, staring at the slurs like they were burned into his skin. He felt exposed. Like the walls had eyes and the floor was laughing at him.
He turned to Travis, his voice flat. "They really hate me."
"They don't even *know* you."
"That's the problem, isn't it?"
---
Jared stared down at the floor of his father's hotel room, his fingers knotted together, knuckles white.
"You're telling me," his father said, voice low and measured—too measured, "that the rumors going around have some truth to them?"
Jared didn't look up. "It's complicated."
His dad stood, back straight, military-stiff. "It's not complicated, Jared. It's a yes or no answer."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Finally, Jared whispered, "Yes."
The word hung there. A death sentence.
His father scoffed. "Goddamn it."
Jared flinched.
"You're my son. You carry our name. Do you know what this could do to our family if it gets out? To me?"
Jared's chest tightened. "It's not about you."
His father's hand slammed against the desk. "The hell it's not!"
Jared looked up, startled.
"You are going to end this… whatever it is. Right now. Or I pull you from that school, and I cut off every cent. You'll be back home in a week, no team, no scholarship, no future. Do you understand me?"
Jared swallowed hard. His throat felt raw.
"Yes, sir."
His father stared at him, nostrils flared, breathing heavy. Then he nodded once and turned away.
Jared sat there for a long time after he left. Every second felt like a piece of himself peeling away.
---
Later that night, Jared showed up to the dorm gym after hours. The lights were half off, and only a few machines hummed quietly.
He hit the treadmill hard. Ran until his legs burned, until his breath came in sharp, painful gasps.
He couldn't stop seeing his father's face. Couldn't stop hearing Mark's voice when he asked, What now?
He'd made his choice.
And it felt like dying.
---
Mark didn't sleep that night.
The RA offered him a temporary dorm to crash in while maintenance cleaned the door. Campus security took photos. Said they'd investigate, but Mark could tell it was just protocol.
No one got expelled for hate. Not really. Not here.
As he lay in a strange bed with stiff sheets and a loud ticking clock, he thought about Jared.
Was he struggling too?
Did he even care?
---
The next day, neither of them spoke at practice. Not even a glance exchanged. Coach noticed, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he thought giving them space would fix it.
It didn't.
Mark threw himself into drills. He caught like a machine. No words. No emotion. Just grit.
Jared threw hard. Brutally hard. Every pitch like it was trying to prove something.
The rest of the team kept their distance.
In the locker room, no one looked at Mark. When he walked in, the conversations stopped. A couple of guys moved down the bench when he sat. One even covered himself with a towel and muttered, "Keep your eyes to yourself, freak."
Mark clenched his jaw. He didn't respond. He just changed quickly and left.
---
At dinner, Jared sat with his usual crowd. Or what was left of it.
He noticed the shift.
The girls weren't giggling at his jokes anymore. One actually stood when he sat near her and grabbed her tray.
"You should get tested," she said, loud enough for the whole table to hear. "I don't wanna catch anything."
Jared froze.
The guys chuckled awkwardly. A few looked away. No one defended him.
He didn't say anything. Just stood and left.
Outside, the air was cool. Clean. He wanted to throw up.
He thought he could control this. Keep it buried. Hide behind the swagger and the stats and the girls.
But the cracks were everywhere now.
And the person he could have leaned on—the one person who saw through all the bullshit—was gone.
Because Jared had pushed him away.
----
The sound of sneakers against wet pavement echoed across the quiet campus.
Travis kicked at a loose pebble as he walked alongside Mark, the two of them heading back from the student union after a long night of homework and late-night fries. The stars were faintly visible above them, the sky unusually clear for once.
"Alright, I've gotta say it," Travis said. "You really suck at math."
Mark laughed, nudging him with his elbow. "I was too busy learning how to throw runners out at second to memorize calculus formulas."
"Clearly," Travis grinned. "But I think we made some good progress. You're not totally doomed."
They reached the entrance to Mark's dorm. Travis paused under the flickering hallway light.
"You okay, though?" he asked, voice a little quieter now. "Like, really?"
Mark hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Getting there. It's… been a week."
"Yeah." Travis scratched the back of his neck. "Just wanted you to know I'm here, alright? For whatever. I'm not gonna vanish like the rest of the team."
Mark smiled—genuine, if tired. "Thanks. That means more than you know."
There was a moment of warm silence between them.
Then Travis stepped back, waving. "Catch you tomorrow."
Mark watched him walk down the hall before unlocking his door and stepping inside.
---
Jared stood at the corner of the hallway, heartbeat pounding.
He hadn't meant to follow Mark tonight.
Well—he had, but he hadn't expected this.
He'd finally worked up the nerve. After everything that happened—the game, the slurs, the silence, his father's ultimatum—he realized he couldn't keep going like this.
He needed to talk to Mark. Apologize. Be honest for once.
But then he saw him.
Travis.
Laughing with Mark, walking close beside him, saying something that made Mark's lips curve into a smile Jared hadn't seen in days.
And then Travis stood under that damn hallway light and said something soft. Mark smiled again. A different kind of smile.
And Jared's stomach twisted.
He backed into the shadows as Travis left. He didn't move until he heard Mark's door close behind him.
He stared at that door for what felt like a year.
Then he turned and walked away.
---
Inside, Mark kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed with a heavy sigh. The graffiti was gone now—maintenance had scrubbed the paint off earlier in the day—but the sting hadn't faded.
He was still radioactive on campus. But at least Travis stuck around.
He'd never expected to find a real friend in the guy who played third-string second base, but Travis had shown up in the silence, in the wreckage, and hadn't asked for anything in return.
They studied, cracked dumb jokes, even played a few rounds of Mario Kart like normal college kids.
Normal. That word had begun to mean something different now.
Mark glanced at his phone. No messages.
No apologies.
No Jared.
He swallowed and rolled over onto his side, arm flopped across the bed like a lifeless branch. The ache in his chest hadn't gone away. It just numbed itself, a little more each day.
---
The next morning at practice, Mark arrived before anyone else. He liked the quiet now. It was easier to breathe without the sideways glances.
He suited up slowly, pulling his gear on in silence.
When Jared arrived ten minutes later, he paused in the doorway. Helmet in hand, cleats tapping softly against the tile. He opened his mouth like he might say something—but then he spotted Travis sitting beside Mark, tying his laces and laughing at something on his phone.
Whatever Jared had planned died in his throat.
He turned and walked away.
---
"Yo," Travis nudged Mark during warmups. "Is Jared avoiding you again?"
Mark followed his gaze to Jared standing across the field, isolated. Silent.
"Looks like it," he muttered. "Not sure why."
Travis didn't press. But Mark couldn't shake the feeling something had shifted again—something silent, heavy, and wrong.
---
That night, Jared sat alone on the bleachers after everyone had left.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from his father.
> Have you ended the relationship?
> Need confirmation.
Jared stared at the screen. Slowly, he typed:
> There's nothing to end.
He hit send.
Then he looked up at the empty diamond, floodlights casting long shadows across the grass.
He thought about the way Mark smiled with Travis. The way he looked lighter. Like maybe Jared had never mattered as much as he thought.
And something inside Jared twisted.
He hadn't just broken someone else's heart.
He'd broken his own, too.